


I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am

by SilverRowan_Ivy630951



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, I can’t think of any more tags for this, Identity Porn, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Sort Of, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Title from a Country Song, can be read as Pre-Steve & Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24303676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRowan_Ivy630951/pseuds/SilverRowan_Ivy630951
Summary: Bucky gets woken up at the ungodly hour of 8 on a Saturday morning. He is not pleased. So he answers the door in nothing but his underwear.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 236





	I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert 
> 
> The title comes from the song

Bucky woke up to firm—loud—knocking on his front door. At eight fucking a.m. On a Saturday.

For most people, that wouldn’t be seen as much of a problem. For most people, they would just deal with it. They would get up, calmly answer the door, and then move on with their lives handling whatever it was that had arrived on their doorstep.

Bucky was not most people.

In fact, on this day, on this particular Saturday morning, Bucky wasn’t even what could be considered a normal Bucky.

He’d been at work the night before, a mere hour away the end of his shift, when he’d been called down to troubleshoot a problem. Now, normally, that wouldn’t have been an issue. Normally, he went down, figured out what was wrong, and fixed the issue in a jiff. Bing, bang, boom. Problem solved. Then he went home at his usual ten p.m. and got a good night’s sleep. He slept well knowing he was doing a job that he liked and was good at.

But the _issue_ was that, last night, the issue was not a simple fix. The issue he went down to troubleshoot had become a full-blown problem. And then some. And it was a problem that, once he'd started working, he couldn’t stop until it was done. To make matters worse, he’d been on his own last night since his partner had called in sick.

Bucky didn’t finish and leave work until after four. In the morning. He didn’t get home until after five. _In the morning._

After a desperately-needed shower to scrub the grease and grime off, he’d fallen into bed exhausted and slept like the dead…for a grand total of two hours and twenty minutes.

Fuck his neighbor and the horse he rode in on. Because Bucky just knew that’s who it was knocking on his door at the ungodly hour of I-hate-your-guts o’clock. That’s who it always was. His annoying, will-complain-about-anything neighbor John “It’s Johann” Schmidt who lived on the other side of Bucky's thin-ass apartment wall.

Fucking Schmidt.

So, with less than two and a half hours of sleep and the prospect of talking to his asshole next-door neighbor, Bucky not-quite-stomped to his front door in nothing but his boxers. Maybe if he practically flashed the prick, he’ll be scandalized enough to think twice about bothering him so early in the fucking morning.

Bucky wrenched open the door already bitching the guy out. “You know good and damn well what time I got off work, asshole, so you’d better…” He trailed off as his sleep-deprived brain finally caught up to his eyes. “You’re not Schmidt.”

A blue-eyed blond with ridiculous shoulders and completely unfair good looks—because no one should look that good or that _awake_ so early in the morning when Bucky looked like death warmed over—stood before him. The man sported a half-confused, half-stunned expression on his face. “Uh, no. No, I’m not Schmidt.”

The blonde’s eyes quickly flicked down then back up to Bucky’s eyes. It reminded him that he was practically naked.

Bucky sighed. What even was his life? Why did this shit always happen to _him_? Why did Bucky make such poor life choices when he was tired?

When the man just kind of stood there without saying anything else, Bucky kicked his brain in gear. “No you’re not. But you are on my doorstep stupid-early in the morning and I only just got to go to bed. So forgive me for being rude, but who are you and what do you want?”

The blonde’s eyes made another quick sweep of the awful picture Bucky made standing in his doorway. He could only figure that the man was trying to figure out if he was deranged because who the hell answered the door nearly naked?

“Um, never mind,” the perfectly awake blond man said. “Sorry for bothering you—for waking you.” He started to turn and leave.

“Aw, fuck no!” Bucky exclaimed. “If you don’t tell me why you’re here then I will literally lie awake for hours trying to figure it out.”

The man stopped, listening. But he didn’t turn back around. The view from the back was pretty damn impressive, too. So maybe this guy rang all of tired-Bucky’s bells. Sue him.

“All that will lead to is even less sleep and increased stress and anxiety. So, please,” he begged. “For all that is good and holy, tell me why you're here. Save me from the never-ending torment of my brain.” He could admit to himself that sleep-deprived—and fully rested—Bucky was a dramatic bitch.

Finally, big, blond, beefy, and beautiful turned back around. “My name is Steve and I…” He hesitated, appearing almost nervous, which was stupid because he wasn’t the one standing there in his underwear. “IgrewuphereandwaswonderingifIcouldcomeinandlookaround.”

It was said in such a rush that Bucky could only stand there and blink stupidly at the man. “I’m sorry. I’m running on less than two and a half hours of sleep. Could you repeat that? Maybe a bit…slower?”

The man—Steve, Bucky had thought he’d said—sighed even as his cheeks flushed. “I used to live here. And I know it’s stupid and probably more than a little creepy, but I was wondering if I could come in and look around. I won’t take anything. I just…wanted to see how the place has changed.”

Taking in Steve’s red face, hunched shoulders, and hands nervously shoved in his pockets, Bucky did something that he probably never would’ve done had he been in his right—fully rested—mind. “You’re making the coffee,” he declared. Then he turned around and headed for the kitchen, leaving the door wide open for Steve to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you think I should tag anything else.


End file.
